Silent Revolution
by gundam06serenity
Summary: Yaoi. Rejection. Devotion. A mission gone wrong, a misunderstanding that will change the course of a war. When even your friends turn their backs on you, the enmy do not seem so unappealing anymore, now, do they? New Summary Old summary still in ch.1
1. Chapter 1

**Silent Revolution**

**Disclaimer – **Unfortunately the smexy-smexy bois are not mine….yet…Until my plan for world domination comes through planning permission, I'm kinda, ah, broke….so please don't sue…. T-T Thank-you!

**Anime – **Gundam Wing

**Genre – **Angst, Romance

**Main characters – **Duo, Treize, Zechs

**Pairings – **Established – 1x5, 3x4, 13x6, Relena x Dorothy, Sally x Une, Mentions of past 1x2x5, Non-con ocx02, Other – 13x2x6

**Warnings – **Mentions of rape, non consensual sex, potential disturbing or distressing themes, Yaoi, Yuri, slightly AU from the GW Universe (as I hated the ending) but following the main gist of the original, language (swearing)

**This is the re-write of my incomplete fanfiction 'Silent'**

**Summary – **A simple mission gone wrong. One wrong move, that's all it took. Six months, and not a word from him, the heart, the soul of the group. But, are they even trying to find him? Is he truly in trouble? Or is this another one of his immature pranks, a ploy for attention? Two unlikely hero's come to the missing pilots' aid. Bust, is it too late to save him? (An Extended re-write of my previous fanfics, 'Silent', incomplete)

**Authors notes – **I have aimed to target some of the key flaws within my original fic, as were pointed out when I started writing it back in 2004. Despite somewhat mixed reactions to the re-writing of this, I am very happy to have had the feedback that I have had so far. Please let me know what you think. I am also taking requests – both for which of my previous fanfics you would like to see updated or re-vamped next, or if there is an idea, plot or crossover you would like me to attempt. Please do not hesitate to email me at my hotmail email address, or on gaiaonline as 'ladyshi', although a review is preferred!

**Chapter One: Escapes**

"_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL, REPEAT, ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL. THE BASE HAS BEEN INFULTRATED. ALL PERSONNEL TO YOUR STATIONS. I REPEAT. ALL PERSONNEL TO YOUR STATIONS!" _A female voice boomed mechanically through the small, high-powered, mesh-covered speakers located through out the small, spread-out base, echoing through both the lower and upper levels of the primarily metal compound.

As the computerised voices words reached each corner of each and every single one of the buildings, clustered together between tarmac and electric fences that made up the somewhat lacking base, sounds of booted feet pounded on scuffed metal floors, echoing, as soldiers of all ranks, scientists and personnel unfortunate enough to be stationed at the chosen target base at that time struggled to their feet, scrambling up, each and everyone hurrying to comply.

Some headed for the hangers, to retrieve weapons, others to prepare to pilot their respective mobile suits, and yet more to check on the defences of the large room as was their task. Each knew that this would be the most likely target and focal point of the attack, if, who they expected it to be-who everyone always assumed and feared it would be-was indeed responsible, then it would need the most protection-least they want the entire base to blow up around their ears.

Others headed to their individual posts, knowing that they may be needed if the enemy had already managed to sneak or fight their way past their initial defences. They would be needed to delay, destroy or capture where necessary. Not one of them even attempted to flee or evacuate. They all knew that the cover needed for them to attempt to escape would not be available for the foreseeable future. They would not be worth the cover, as far as the cause was concerned, even if it were there, ready at hand. Instead, those remaining-security, for the most part, surrounded the few cells currently playing host to various prisoners, doubling, tripling in some cases, the guards at those points.

Caution was a necessity. After all, it would be more than a slight embarrassment to capture and defeat the enemy, defend their base, only to be taken over from the inside out by escapees due to a lax in security.

Each and every person was on edge, at the ready for the part they had to play in the upcoming fight. So many knew that it was likely-no, almost a certainty that most, if not all of them would loose their lives if it came down to it-if it really was them, the most feared of their enemies. However, it was worth it. For the Cause. For the Future. For their Families. For His Excellency's Ideals. For Safely. For Change.

Thirty miles away, hidden within the dense camouflage of the artificially grown, rich colony forest, Cobalt eyes widened in shock, horror clearly evident in their usually stoic, icy depths.

"Shit!" He swore, hands slamming down on the gundanium armrests. He allowed himself a brief split-second. Time stood still for him. His emotions-locked away for so long, slammed into him full force like a tidal wave, before he managed to get them back under lock and key. He couldn't afford to loose control-not now, none of them could. Not it they all wanted to get out of this alive.

Small, tanned, calloused hands flew over the controls, as he kicked into actions. Thrusters burst into life, as he tapped in the coordinates into his computer, sending the signal to his awaiting comrade to follow in the winged gundams' path in his own black and yellow mecca.

He flipped a switch, changing the frequency from merely allowing him to listen in to their other comrades' activities, to allowing them to communicate with them.

"This is Wing. Aboard the mission, repeat, abort the mission." He snapped tersely across the hopefully still secure line. "Get out of there now. Cherub and I will cover you with the Suits."

The base was rapidly drawing closer and closer, the alarms blaring louder and louder as they neared. They knew, when the time came, that they could easily tare through the fences. They knew that, whatever pitiful defences that the small base would have wouldn't hold a candle to their own mobile suits. They knew that this would be an unfair fight-which they would win with ease. They had the safety of their gundams. Their partners, however…

Aqua-marine orbs-usually so kind, soft, caring, slipped closed. Plump, pale lips moved rapidly in his native tongue, as he sent up a prayer of apology, before opening his eyes, allowing them to harden. Milky pale skin glowed in the faint light of his cockpit, the lights from various buttons and screens staining his startlingly pale skin a in a fountain of colours and images, giving the angelic teen a more demonic edge, transforming him. He needed this-needed it to cope, to keep the gut wrenching pain, the sorrow, the anger, the gear behind an impenetrable wall until it would be sage to release them. For a time, he would allow logic and strategy to rule supreme over his heart and emotions.

"Wing, Dragon here. What the hell just happened out there? Nanshi and I have the targets within out sights" A stern voice whispered in rapid Japanese into the communicator, unable to hide his anxiety and frustration from his voice. Both onyx and emerald were fixated on the targets, unable to comprehend that they were being told to retreat at this late stage-when they were so close, so close!

Knowing that they did not have time for this, that he couldn't risk his decisions being questioned-for all of their sakes, he issued his last command emotionlessly before cutting off the communicator. "Abort now, Dragon! That's an order."

They had been spotted, someone had blown their cover. Three guesses who four of the pilots blamed.

One mission. This one mission could have ended the war, could have been their final mission. Pissed off does not even begin to come close to how the four pilots felt at that exact moment in time.

The base. In one small, space base, Oz had had everything; the latest mobile suit data and plans, new Mobile suits, a computer mainframe with an alarmingly large amount of important data and specs held with in it. Most importantly, however, it had been playing host to the head of Oz himself, Treize Kushrenada, and his right-hand man, Zechs Marquise. They had both been briefly staying as one of the last parts of their tour throughout their space bases. Even Lady Une had been there, making sure that everything was up to his Excellency's high standards during his stay.

And it had all been blown-all by none other than one of their own. All of their hard work, their planning, the blood, sweat and tears they had poured, channelled into it. All for nothing! It was all because of his stupidity, they assumed-no, they knew, that it had all been blown. It was because of him that they had to carry on with the fighting, the lying, the killing, the deceit. It was because of him that they were stuck being soldiers to the cause.

They barley made it out of there in the end. Wing and Sandrock provided the distraction by firing at one end of the base, successfully holding the attention of most of the foot soldiers within the facility, drawing the attention of all of the mobile suits fully onto them. This left the path that slight bit clearer for their comrades who were without their gundams, as they made their get-away on motorbikes that they had hidden within the surrounding forest hours earlier prior to their infiltration of the base. None of them had counted on the sheer numbers they would be facing. Surprising, really, considering the size of the base.

Five and a half hours later, they made it back to the safe house, having resorted to taking the long way to loose their pursuers. Exhausted, confused, close to tears, and oh so very, very pissed.

Trowa and Wufei, although the first to leave, were the last to arrive, due to their far-slower method of transportation, and far more serious injuries.

Onyx orbs blazing, the second he staggered through the door, supporting his comrade by the arm, he was off.

"What the hell happened out there? One minute, Trowa and I were preparing to storm Kushrenada's quarters, the next thing I know, alarms are blaring, and you are ordering us to abort the mission! We were seconds - seconds away from out goal! The door was within our sights! What in Nataku's name happened back there to fuck this all up?" He shouted and spluttered angrily, sparks shooting from his eyes.

He ran his fingers through his mass of loose blood, sweat and grim slicked shoulder length inky hair. Letting out a hiss as his stoic lover took him firmly by the arm, he was forced into a seat. Using readily prepared supplies, Heero bandaged his lovers bleeding arm, dabbing his various cuts, grazes and shallow scrapes left by stray bullets with alcohol. He had minor injuries considering the circumstances; a handful of gunshot wounds and grazes received during their escape-highly lucky.

Trowa, left to stand by himself beside the outdated, floral-patterned faded couch, sank down with a wince, sending his over a grateful smile for his assistance as the blond-haired Arabian helped steady him as he eased down into the seat.

Their current safehouse was a rather rundown affair, with dated wallpaper and furniture to match, an inch of dust coating every surface within the four rather unsteady walls, was not, rather to his relief, one of Quatre's own families many estates. It had, however, been the only one even remotely suitable.

Trowa had near on identical injuries to his dark-haired partner in crime. He nodded in agreement with what Wufei had said, wanting answers, as his own lover bandaged his sprained and swelling wrist, the purpling black mess looking a little worrying to the emerald-eyed boy, the constant throbbing emulating from it worse to him by far.

Quatre and Heero had, fortunately, escaped virtually unscathed, their gundams taking the brunt of the damage. With the added speed and protection of their respective gundams, both had had the time to return and conceal their mobile suits before the arrival of their lovers, hence why they were able to treat their lovers in their current falling-to-pieces-yet-still-barely-inhabitable safe house.

"Some one" Heero growled in barely concealed anger "Tripped the alarms"

"Three guesses who!" Quatre cut in bitterly, voice barely above a whisper, crystalline tears welling. They had been so close, and now, it was all gone.

"Maxwell!" A wide-eyed Wufei growled. Anger clearly evident in his voice. ""where the hell is that bastard hiding? This injustice shall not go un-avenged. Is this his idea of some sick joke? I knew he was an idiot, but really-I never thought even he would be capable of these levels of stupidity! Nor that he would be such an unjust, dishonourable coward!"

"None of us thought him able to stoop to this level" Trowa spoke out. His eyes shone, showing desperation and a heart-wrenching sorrow. This set back looked as though it was close to breaking him.

Quatre rested his head on his lovers' chest, bitter tears trailing down porcelain cheeks. "He's probably just hiding somewhere. He'll surface when he's hungry, or when he wants something .he always does." He let out a small, hiccupped sob, shuddering in his lovers arms. "Why-why did he do it? Any other time, any other time at all would have been fine! But why then, of all times, did he have to do it? Why did he have to mess up then?"

"OhShitOhShitOhShitOhShitOhShit!" Duo chanted, boots flying over steel floors silently, the pounding of feet drawing closer and closer behind him. Running as fast as he could, dodging bullets, barrelling into guards, he was thoroughly regretting his spur of the moment decision.

He had no weapons-his own long gone, no backup-his comrades having left hours earlier, no idea where he was going- hopelessly lost in the memorised maps of the bases twisting and turning corridors within his minds eye, and no chance whatsoever of rescue.

Duo Maxwell was well and truly screwed. And, worst of all, they were going to blame him and, for once, it had not been his fault.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Silent revolution: ****Chapter Two – Missions**

**Authors Notes:** Thank-you for the Reviews. Please expect weekly to twice a week updates at the very least. The more response I get, the more motivated I will be to continue this project (despite mounting coursework ..)

**Chapter Two:**

_Flashback_

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

He let out a groan, eyes slipping closed as the tell-tale beep of a laptop could be heard throughout the thin walls of the near-on derelict house, letting all of its current residents know that at least one, if not more of them were receiving the details of a new mission.

Turing the dial down with reluctant fingers, he shut off the stream of hot water gently pounding down on him from the old, rusting showerhead, stopping the pleasant spray with a dull clanking noise, switching first to a small trickle before settling on a steady drip.

He lent forward on his hands. Slender, pale fingers splayed on the cracked and grimy tiles that may have once been terracotta, or perhaps a lovely shade of mustard considering the interior of the rest of the house. He allowed himself a brief moment of bitterness and regret.

This pace wasn't good for any of them. Even if one were to disregard that they were teenagers-still children in the eyes of so many, such an unending, unforgiving pace-the missions one after the other, the hiding, the fighting, the training, the lying- it was wearing them-all of them, far too thin. Such a pace can only be sustained for so long.

"Damnit" He cursed, scrubbing at his pale, elfin face with both hands before fumbling with one hand for the handle to the sliding glass shower door. It always stuck half way, he knew, and so, reaching for the towels he had left folded on the toilet seat, dried off where he was standing. One thin, threadbare towel quickly covered his lower-half, hanging from slender, scar-mottled hips, leaving droplets of water to run down his pale, toned stomach, seeping into the faded, once-black cloth.

He ran his fingers through his hair, now brushing the tops of his thighs. He winced as he hit the odd snag on his way, before sweeping the chestnut mass up into the softer, fluffy, well-kept of the two towels, drying it with quick, careful practiced precision.

He ignored the chipped mirror as he passed it. Making his way across the cool, cracked limonene floor, he made sure to clean up after himself as he left. Heaven forbid if, when Mr. Perfect Soldier Yuy or Kanata-up-his-arse Chang found so much as a droplet of water on the floor or a towel out of place when they next graced the bathroom with their presence.

He made his way into the room he had claimed as his own the previous week, knowing that none of the other pilots were still up there, he could hear the low murmur of talk coming from the living room, up through the floorboard, and the faint whistling of a kettle boiling. An obvious giveaway of his comrades' locations.

He disabled the alarms and booby-traps he had set on his door and in various locations around his temporary room, before clicking the door closed behind him. He could be more anal about security than even Heero was, if given the chance.

It was the first time in months that he had had a space of his own, without having to share with one of the other pilots, or a room full of students if on an undercover mission, or even on the sofa. It had become more than a little uncomfortable when they had paired off, well, when it came to sleeping arrangements at least.

"At least I don't have to share a room with Heero anymore" He thought wryly, letting his towel drop to his feet as he shimmied into a pair of comfortable, faded black jeans. "I mean, he's a great guy an' all-but sheesh-I don't know how Fei puts up with the third-wheel in their relationship. I could barely sleep cause of him and that damned thing! There again, I suppose Fei spends just as much time with that sword of his as Hee-chan does with his laptop. There is something seriously wrong with those boys."

Pulling on his usual priest shirt, he braided his hair with nimble fingers, wringing what he could of the moisture out of his hair as he went.

"There again, sleeping on the couch in the living room in that last place was just goddamned awful" The others traipsing through at all hours of the day and night, staying up until the early hours watching the television, preventing him from getting a good nights sleep, getting up early and awakening him the minute they set foot into the room. Sheer hell.

Fixing an impish grin on his face, violet-indigo orbs sparkling, he prepared himself. He took a deep breach, before descending the stairs noisily.

"I knew that this vacation they gave us was too good to be true!" He moaned, strolling into the room, arms behind his head, stretching. His still damp hair left a wet patch on his shirt, limp bangs falling into his eyes. The jokers mask was out in full force, as he muttered darkly under his breath "Stupid god-dammed scientists, stupid fucking Shinigami-damned-missions!"

The other four pilots, already present, ignored the braided pilots' first comment, not hearing his second.

Heero, wearing his ever-present forest green tank top, black spandex shorts and vile mustard-yellow and white sneakers, had stationed himself on one of the two centre-seats of the four-seater worn and sagging couch. Chocolate hair, tousled as always, fell even messier than usual, partially covering alert, focused cobalt eyes-no trace of their earlier sleepiness still present whatsoever.

His lover sat rigidly beside him, caramel, calloused fingers reaching up to tighten his raven shoulder-length ponytail-hair, as usual, slicked back and tied tightly as it was. Only orbs; focused, determined. He brought his hands down to rest loosely on his thighs, fingers curled gently towards his palms. Every now and then, they would twitch, as though eager to reach for his readily available sword or gun. He wore his favoured loose white pants, secured tightly at his waist by a soft, cotton black belt. Comfortable black Chinese-spillers adored his dainty feet. He had, however, forgone his usual, comfortably fitting navy tank top. Instead, his upper body was encased in a looser, worn forest green tank top, belonging to his lover-the first top that had been at hand. He had been practicing his martial arts when he had bearded the beeping of a mission alert going off.

Quatre sat at the far end of the couch, legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees, arms reaching up to hug himself. Aqua-marine eyes took on a glazed appearance as he stared vacantly, porcelain-pale skin and angelic, wheaten hair glowing in the flickering florescent light of the living room. He wore a simple pair of tan slacks with a loose baby pink shirt. He hadn't had the time to search for his usual deep purple waistcoat.

In some ways, it was all so much more stressful for him. He had to endure it all-all of their pain, their fear, their anger, their anxiety. It all overwhelmed him at times. The stress-it was unimaginable for them-for those who had never had to experience it, never had to endure it.

He blinked, dazed, as he came back to himself. A slender, long-fingered hand appeared in his line of vision.

A ceramic mug-lilac, with an emerald butterfly on the handle, came into focus next, held steady in a firm, sure grip. He took the mug automatically, eyes travelling up the long, blue sweater-no, the turtleneck clad arm. He smiled softly as he met the emerald eyed gaze of his lover, his face-half obscured by his deep brown bangs, gazing down at the Arabian teen with an unusual level of gentleness in their depths.

The taller, elder teen wore a simple navy turtleneck with tight white jeans and fitted black boots. He held a tray in one hand, at shoulder-height, fingers splayed beneath to keep it steady. Still remaining on the chipped tray were Heero, Wufei and his own mugs – a pure white and silver mug with a blue and onyx dragon curving around the base, a midnight blue with silvery angel wings framing the sides, and a forest green with a small, pink fluffy kitten dozing beneath the lip of the mug.

All four had their attention focused on the cause for all of the commotion. Sitting on the centre of the low, wobbly coffee table sat a slim, sleek silver laptop, glowing brightly in the dimly lit room.

"Late as usual, Maxwell." Wufei sniped as the braided pilot sauntered in.

He had learned to ignore such comments. Just like he had learned not to expect the smallest common courtesy from his team-mates. He made his way into the kitchen, snagging a bottle of water from the battered, faded refrigerator. He winced, barely catching himself on the cracked countertop, as he slipped on the grimy, cracked linoleum floor. He let out a small sigh.

"That's another job for me, then, if we aren't getting moved on already."

They had been hiding out in their current safe house, 'on vacation', as both Duo and the mad five had put it, for almost three weeks.

Duo had been the first to arrive, due to an unforeseen opportunity that had presented itself to him during his solo mission, allowing him to complete his objective three days ahead of schedule. To his joy and amusement, this had left him-after an initial day of rest and recovery, several days to set traps, plan pranks, and move things from one room to another, to his fellow pilots' bad luck an annoyance.

What they hadn't noticed, however, was the most important of his actions-those that he had spend the majority of his time doing before their arrival. No-one noticed the mismatched, slightly askew wooden step leading up the front door-the only one on the small flight of steps that didn't cream or groan ominously when so much as a butterfly dare breathe on them. No one noticed the unsightly, but safely patched hole in the ceiling of the bathroom, nor the distinct lack of mouse-droppings despite the evidence that the little buggers had recently been nibbling on the couches at the very least.

He didn't mind, though. That they didn't notice. If they hadn't noticed such blatantly obvious things-to those with the training that they had had, at any rate- then it would be unlikely that they had noticed the other things. Such as the number of books missing from the pitifully small library that one of the three back cupboard-like rooms had become. On one of his many library raids, he had 'borrowed' as many books as he could hide securely in the tiny single-bed room that he had claimed as his own.

He had known that the others would rather share a room with their respective partners. And so, to make the inevitable order for him to move out of a double room that he would usually share with Heero, easier on all parties involved, he had taken the initiative, and set up residence in the tiny, single-bed room on the far end of the upper story of the house. Not that it would have been hard on them, per say. But he knew that, after such a confrontation, that Heero would be even colder and more distant with him, if he even choose to address him at all. Wufei, too, would feel uncomfortable and guilty about his lovers' lack of tact when dealing with the issue, and would, therefore, deal with his own discomfort and guilt by becoming more waspish and sharp, when addressing the braided American teen over the next week or so.

It was so much easier this way, anyway. Now all he had to do, whenever he wanted to read or have some quiet time to himself, was to blast one of his old metal cd's from his small, battered stereo-a gift from one of the sweepers he had saved a few months back from a slight accident with faulty lifting equipment and a rogue Taurus arm- and the other pilots would avoid his room like the plague.

"Mission details, Yuy?" Wufei asked, glaring over at Duo as he re-entered the room, draping himself over the only remaining seat-off to one side, a small armchair. His eyes softened as he turned back to face his lover.

"Infiltration mission. All five pilots required. Two gundams only. 12 will be split into three groups. 04 and I will provide a distraction, should you be detected. 03, your job will be to gain access into the computer mainframe, located here" Heero indicated to an area of the base on the blueprints that he had pulled up on his laptop.

"And retrieve the required date. You will also infect the system with several viruses that J has sent us-from G, according to the specs. A few prototypes he wants to have tested. This should keep them busy. 05, you will accompany 03. After the data has been retrieved, you shall both continue on to this location" he zoomed in on one part of the blueprints. "To target two visiting individuals; Kushrenada and Marquise. You are then to immediately leave the base. Head towards the woods surrounding the compound, where three bikes will be hidden for each of you. 05, 03, and…02."

Four heads turned to face the fifth pilot who sat by himself, lounging on the sagging, aged chair, a bottle of water nursed in-between his hands. In unison, they turned back to face the screen. Each re-read the mission plans, praying that they had been mistaken.

Heero, glare not at full force, continued. "02, your job is to plant the explosives around the base, distract the guards headed for 03 and 05, and to not mess up."

He addressed everyone. "This could be our last mission if everything goes according to play. I don't want any screw-ups" He warned.

All eyes turned to Duo.

Duo merely grinned back at them all innocently. "Who, me?"

To be continued

Authors' notes: has anyone got any fanfics recommendations? I'm a little bored waiting for updates xD I've read all of littlemouses & Ryoko21s & rogue11's fics—truly amazing. Has anyone got any good Yaoi Gundam Wing, Naruto, Death note, yugioh, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, crossovers or BtVS recommendations? (pref. over 10k word length xD The longer the better) Thank-you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Silent Revolution: ****Chapter three – Reflection**

He always played the trickster, the prankster, the jester; hiding behind an array of old, well-used masks.

He was the group's soul, the one who always was there. He always managed to lighten their mood, to cheer them up, do distract them whatever their troubles were.

How long was it now, that they had known each other? How long had they been comrades? Six months? Eight?

How many times had he reassured gentle Quatre, comforted him after the bloodshed when he couldn't get their faces from his mind, when he couldn't get the crimson from his porcelain hands?

How many times had he listened to Trowa, when the silence began suffocating the silencer himself? When the bone-deep, weary loneliness caused him to crave someone-anyone, to talk to, to listen to him.

How many times had he attempted to help Heero? To help him out of his shell, to help the poor, emotionally stunted boy to find some semblance of normality, something in common with another human being.

How many times had he held Wufei during his nightmares? How many times had he whispered words of comfort to the other teen as he sobbed and whimpered in his sleep, crying over loved ones lost upon the destruction of his colony months earlier.

For each of them, he had been there countless times, would be there for them countless more.

How many times, though, had they tried to look past the façade, past the masks? How many times had they tried to see the real him, comforted him during the early hours of the morning when visions of children and rats, burning buildings and bleeding, lifeless glossy eyes and tiny, bloody footprints plagued his every thought, invaded his very dreams.

How many times had they listened to him when he needed to talk, when the hopelessness was so close, so cloying that it felt as though it would surely suffocate him?

How many times had they tried to help him improve? Had they helped out on a mission when their own parts were complete?

The answer, simple. Never.

They had never even attempted to help him, to look behind the masks. They hadn't even realised that there was a mask, let alone many.

They didn't see it, how it tore him apart.

It was to be expected, though. He knew that they would be…preoccupied. After all, they had finally done it, finally gotten together. Trowa and Quatre, Wufei and Heero.

Duo was happy for them, of course he was. They were his friends. They deserved what precious little comfort they could cling onto during such times.

He had joined them once-Heero and Wufei, that is. It had been after a particularly long, hard mission. But…neither Heero nor Wufei had had that special place in their hearts left for Duo that he really needed.

After the first time he had 'joined in'-no more than a heavy petting session, truth be told, they had treated him no differently, had forgotten, even, that he was still there.

He refused their invitations after that.

But still….why? Why did they always assume it would be he who would screw up? They had all messed up at some point or another.

Quatre-kind hearted, sweet, angelic Quatre. Innocent, reliable-complete and utter psycho after a little exposure to the zero-system. How else could you explain away his near-murder of not only his lover, but also an entire colony to boot? The alternative didn't fit in quite as well with what the others knew of-or they thought they knew of the most kind hearted member of the group.

And what about Wufei! Hot headed, passionate, opinionated Wufei. Justice first, think later. Always running headlong into battle-often taking a sword into a gunfight, never considering the lack of logic of it all. He had made far more mistakes than the braided pilot ever had!

Not to mention Mr. Perfect-fucking-Yuy. Focused, dedicated, reliable. A human machine who would rather throw away the lives of his own team-mates and himself than have the mission compromised in the slightest! Never mind if that mission wasn't crucial in the first place, if those involved in it are worth more to the war effort than accepting defeat in one small battle.

So why, exactly, did they assume that it would be Duo who would fuck-up?

To be continued

Authors notes – I know this chapter is particularly shorter than the previous two. However, this is because silent's original chapter two has been split into three parts for Silent Revolutions chapters two, three and four, due to the, quite frankly, mess that they had been in to be honest.

I know this isn't the best chapter—the sentence structure is far too long. However, expect a chapter of more substance next update---if I get some reviews!  I promise! Tehehe xD


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**** – Missions II**

**Authors Notes: **I was asked recently in a review if I knew how I would end this fic, that a yes or no would suffice. I would like to reassure you that not only have I planned the ending, but have also intended on another after-war sequel, and a few one-shots for various offshot pairings, mini plots and interlude-type things xD a few of these will be Nc17s, so links (as in: look on this site X under my username type of thing) to them.

Also-quick observation. More of you have signed up for alerts and favourted this than reviewed. Come on-it takes less than a minute! Please? For Duo? T-T

**Chapter Four**

Under the cover of darkness, three pilots silently swept through the forest, gliding through the trees under the dim glow of a crescent moon.

Hours earlier, they had arrived in the forest. They had followed a rough dirt0trail made more for hikers and cyclists rather than motorbikes, after a good hour of winding back roads to get that far from their safe house. It had taken them another two hours to make it to the designated stopping point.

None of them had questioned how the mad five had known that they would need the bikes ahead of time. Nor had they questioned where the three sleek, speedy machines had come from. They hadn't bothered looking for helmets, knowing that they would be more of a hindrance than a help if it came down to plan b- running the hell out of there for their lives. Safety first was not exactly a well-used motto let alone practice amongst those of their profession.

As one shadow slunk over the high, barbed-wire-topped mesh fence with ease from years of experience, two less concealed, bulky and slow in comparison figures made their way across the expanse of green between the trees and the edge of the compound. Both ducked behind a near-by bush, awaiting the signal.

The minutes ticked on, as they waited impatiently.

"What the hell is taking him so long?" Wufei snarled under his breath, agitation evident. Trowa, crouched beside him, shifted from one knee to the other.

"Perhaps we should not wait for him?" He suggested. They were all nervous, anxious. They couldn't afford any slip-ups—not now that their freedom was so close.

Meanwhile, miles away, little did they know that a similar argument was taking place.

"What if he's tripped an alarm? What if he's already been caught? Then what, hm? The bases' security will be on high-alert, that's what! We have to act now, don't you see?" Aqua-marine eyes pleaded with cobalt via their video communications link. His hands twitched, aching to get started. "I don't see why we didn't just blow the place up in the first place! The mission is to kill-"

"No" Heero cut him off, tone steely. "We follow the mission. 03 and 05 can retrieve the data and assassinate the targets by themselves if necessary. We will make up the difference if 02 does not plant the explosives."

"But-" He argues desperately. Every second wasted was a second less, a chance that his lover may be discovered. They could not afford a delay-any delay.

"That's final, 04! We wait" He knew the risks-they all knew the risks. However much he loved Wufei-needed him to go on living, he had to allow him to take the same risks, to live the life he wanted. He had to-lest he loose him.

"You may be right. On my count" Wufei conceded to Trowa's argument. "One, Two-"

"Uh, hey there? I'm a little bit lost. I'm so sure this isn't where Sister Leana told my class to meet up again. Could you maybe help me out?" An amiable, animated voice could be heard from where the two boys crouched. He sounded sheepish.

Violet-indigo eyes were widened, his posture, slouched. He reached up with one hand to rub the back of his head before reaching down to play with the end of his braid-a nervous gesture. His stance screamed harmless, innocence and embarrassment. He seemed like your average, slightly clumsy teenager, if the twigs in his hair and his apparent lostness were anything to go by.

"How the hell did you get in here?" The two guards manning the small entrance stood, their attention now caught. Two sets of hands fell to rest on the bust of their guns.

Duo shifted, hands clearly in front of him in full view, slouching further. He tried to make himself look smaller, less threatening. "I think I got separated from my tour-group. The Sisters got permission to show all of us a real live military place!" He tilted his head to one side, a small, excited grin on his lips, allowing his priests collar to be in full view of the harsh spotlights placed around the fences.

Immediately, they both seemed to relax. A teenager-a priest in training- a man of the cloth, was no threat. Even the enemy wouldn't dare disguise themselves as priests. That would just be wrong.

"Alright, I'll put a call through to the main office for you-"The soldier began with a lopsided smile and surprisingly understanding eyes. He himself was a father of three. His eldest- Erin, had just turned fifteen. He was always getting himself into such trouble with his absolutely hopeless sense of direction. This violet-eyes boy reminded him of his son too much for him to be wary of him.

He himself was a good father, and had been a good husband for years. He had always been there for his children. He had never missed a school play or a game, was always at the ready for homework and sick days. His wife- Maria, a dark-haired, azure-eyed French girl he had met when they were both still in their teens, had little to complain about. He was still tall, his physique-although not as muscular as it once was, was still slim and in good shape. He still had all of his own hair-as one would hope when still in their early thirties-and no wrinkles so to speak of, save a few laughter-lines around his mouth and eyes. He earned a decent wage and always helped out with the housework-despite his wife's' insistence that he rest after work.

That was, until the war. Until he had been shipped off into space, leaving his perfect little family behind in Sanq. Until news had reached his of his wife and middle child-May, six-'s deaths. An explosion, apparently. It had wiped out more than a three-block radius, according to the reports. They hadn't stood a chance in their comfortable two-story townhouse. Now his eldest, Erin, and his youngest-little Lizzie, barely two- had to live with his parents in England, where the fighting seemed to have affected the least.

His partner, seeing his ease around the boy, took on a more relaxed stance, hands falling away from his weapons. He leaned against the mesh fence, watching lazily as the other picked up the phone, fingers poised to type in the number.

He wasn't a bad man, either. Not that he was a saint or anything. No wife, no children, no relieves to speak of- an orphan since he was four. All he had to compare with the ideal of a family was the vague memories of a woman with hair like spun gold and a man with hair as black as night, smiling and laughing-a feeling of warmth coming from them.

He had joined the organisation the second that the news report had been shown all those years ago. The second Heero Yuy had been announced dead, assassinated. He knew that it was a tragedy. He knew the man would be mourned. He knew that he had been a great man. But he also knew that there would be those who wouldn't take it lying down. It would cause a war, which would cause deaths. Men, women, children, old and young, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, mothers and fathers. He hadn't had a purpose until that day. He knew that he wanted-no, that he had to do what he could to prevent a new, larger generation of children growing up without a parent to love and care for them. He knew what it was like to grow up like that. He didn't want it to happen again. Not if he could help prevent it from happening to just one child.

Violent-indigo orbs focused on them both, gaze unwavering. He couldn't afford to let his gaze flicker as two shadows approached rapidly. He couldn't give them a hint as to what would happen.

They both fell in unison; eyes wide, neither had a chance to make a sound as they slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"What took you so long, 02?" Trowa asked, as he quickly and methodically stripped one of the bodies of its uniforms, tying his hands to the fence shortly after. Neither should awaken anytime soon, by which time it should be too late. One never could be too careful, however.

Trowa asked first. He knew Wufei was too agitated. He would blow their cover faster than even Duo would manage if he were to let his ire be known at this point.

Duo watched with an air of detachment as the other two each donned the burgundy and white uniforms. Arms folded in front of his chest, he lent back against the mesh fence, one booted foot resting against the cool metal, knee bent.

"Guards. Two patrols-they seemed to be circling the perimeters." He answered sharply. His eyes flitted across the darkness, scanning or any sign of movement. They were taking too long, far too long.

"And?" Wufei snapped as he did the last of his buttons up, permanent scowl fixed on his face.

"I dealt with it-and with security cameras which were not in the mission specs. I put them on a continuous loop of the last hour sans our presence. I-"

"Enough. 05, come-we have a mission to complete. 02-don't mess this up" Were Trowa's parting words to the braided pilot.

He gazed blankly at their retreating backs briefly, a hint of disbelief flickering within indigo depths. If Trowa doubted him…No. no time for such thoughts.

With a regretful glance down, he slunk silently into the shadows, away from the unconscious figures.

Neither would awaken in time to witness their own deaths, as so many others would be forced to do in the coming hours if everything went according to plan.

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Silent Revolutions: Chapter five: Missions III

Authors Notes- Two quick points; One, although I have a direction and an ending in mind as well as many key factors, I would welcome/ consider any suggestions if there is anything in particular that anyone wants to see xD Two, I know this is being favourited, author-alerted, c2'ed and story-alerted on ff. the lack of reviews makes for a sad author. Hence, unless I get a minimum of five reviews for this chapter on ff . net I will stop re-writing it ….. Well, stop posting the re-write at all, as I'm finishing it for my own selfishness now xD TT No reviews sad author no updates.

Thank-you

(Ack! One last thing—A reviewer commented something like 'dark but good' … its angst, people…. Those of you who read the original know you do not have happy bunniehs and pink fluff to look forward to…. In addition, Yaoi-scenes will hopefully be more graphic this time than the last. Expect heavy-editing on fanfics dot net for certain chapters. You can see the unedited versions of gundam-wing-universe dot net)

Chapter Five: Mission III

Two sets of booted feet marched in time. Quick, even, with purpose. Onyx and emerald stayed fixated ahead of them. Both able to scan their surroundings discreetly, they choose to do so, so as not to attract the attention of the skeleton crew night staff.

Two sets of eyes-one bright, worried, aqua-marine, one sharp, closed-off cobalt, watched the screens with hawk eyes. Each looked for the tiniest hint of a disturbance, ready to spring into action if needs be. If attention was attracted by their comrades, they would know what to do.

One pair of slender, long fingered, calloused hands. Nimble fingers made quick work of screws and wires alike, as he opened the, thankfully, poorly sealed ventilation shafts, tapping the small, deadly devices well into the dusty, rough spaces. In the ventilation system, under desks, behind doorways, on top of large machinery.

He placed the devices throughout the base-not sporadically, but to fit in with a specific plan, a special design created-by him, for optimum efficiency when detonating, whether by switch or by mobile-suit attack, if he did not make it.

Caramel and tanned fingers flew across the keys; 05 to open the doors with the access codes provided to them, 03 to obtain the required data. He slipped a small, tiny really, compact disk into the slot. He didn't pause to watch the green loading bar slowly edge up. Instead, his fingers flying in even quicker succession. He slipped another disk into yet another slot. He began loading the new filed and programs into part of the system that he had no use for.

05 stood strategically at his side, allowing him to not only block 03's actions from the prying eyes of the two security cameras that were clearly visible, but also to keep watch for intruders. Neither paused to consider why such an important room would be left unattended, let alone unguarded. Neither thought it was suspicious in the slightest.

04 and 01 continued to observe, hands resting on the controls, ready. They watched the unmoving screens calmly, no trace of their pounding hearts showing on their faces. Neither paused to consider why a base with such high-profile visitors would have seemingly no security.

Last explosive in place, scuffed booted feet dropped to the scratched metal floor. He swept through the corridors silently, keeping to the shadows.

'Stupid, Shinigami-Damned missions' He thought to himself, as he pressed himself against the wall to avoid a stray scientist; Styrofoam cup clasped in one hand, the other rubbing at tired eyes. The man, no older than thirty, continued on obliviously. He would never know how close to death he had come. He would never have the chance to thank whichever deity had decided to look out for him, to bless him by allowing him to cross paths with Shinigami. He felt nothing, as he fell. Unconscious but never to awaken again, if the mission went as planned.

Nimble, pale hands dragged him, squeezing him into a convenient utility cupboard a short distance away.

That was when he first noticed it. Yet another detail not on the plans. More surveillance cameras. 'Shit!'

Chestnut tail trailing behind him, he darted back into the closet before the number of cameras could swing back to face him. He could only pray that he-that none of them had been spotted.

He took a moment to calm himself. Deep breath in, slow exhale out. Calming his heart rate and quieting his laboured breathing, his mind wandered of its own accord as he tried to come up with a solution to his new problem.

'There's no telling how many of those things there are around here. I'll have to be careful getting to Wufei and Trowa now that I'm done. I may have been the one handling the dangerous equipment, but they're the ones taking the risks, really' He thought to himself.

'Not long now. The war'll be over soon' A brief smile of indulgence spread across his lips. Plump, cherry, cherubim lips curved up gently, transforming the elfin face, making it shine radiantly. 'Not more killing, lying, running. No more orders…No family, no home…no place to go, no education-' A hint of panic entered startled stormy swirling indigo depths.

'Nothing. And with how things are with the others at the moment…there's no way they'll want me hanging around. It's understandable, though. I wouldn't want me-a thief, a murdered, a coward, a street-rat gutter-trash orphan around either, if I was them…" He thought morosely. 'Stop it right now, Maxwell! Self-obsession will get us no-where. There'll be time for this later-and if not, then there was no reason to worry in the first place. Now, I need to back up my team-mates, and get us the hell out of here.

The door slid smoothly open. He slipped out, darting faster than the flickering of a shadow in the corner of a childs' eye at bedtime, avoiding the cameras gaze. He made his way swiftly through the halls, focusing on the task ahead. He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering.

'Who am I kidding? The ending of this war-it may end it all for them-for the masses. It may even end it for the other pilots. They have each other, and they have wealth.

Wufei has more than enough to support the two of them with all his ancestors' and colony's wealth as he's the sole heir, and Quatre-hell, he has enough to support several large colonies if the two of them ever want to adopt. But me? The missions won't stop. Not as long as they've got someone to turn to do their dirty work. Not whilst I'll have no choice. I can't outrun them all forever. I can only survive on pilfered funds for so long.

G…I owe him everything. He knows it. And with the rest of the mad fives experiments refusing to play the game anymore…it's more than a little obvious as to where all their attention will turn…

Just one more political figure trying to gain too much power, just one more ex-military type needing to be put in his place. Just more experiment on my immune system, my strength, my stamina, just one more lab with information that they need. It's never going to end. Not for me. But…it doesn't matter, does it? Not in the grand scheme of things. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few and all that…they all deserve their peace. I'm willing to pay that price.'

He continued on towards the rooms marked as His Excellency's on the blueprints provided by the mad five. He was once again thankful for his years of experience and training, not only from G but from his childhood as well. Without them, he surly would have been caught whilst his mind was wandering. Even a foot out of place and into the sight of one of those damned cameras and they all would be compromised.

'I Suppose I should be thankful that my natural paranoia kept me in the shadows and moving quickly up until this point' Duo thought with a light grin.

His eyes darkened. A thought flicked across his mind. He latched onto it with trembling hands. What of Trowa and Wufei? Neither had been listening closely-not paying particular attention to him earlier, when he had spoken of the surveillance cameras surrounding the parameter that had not been on the maps.

They knew the blueprints as well as he-but what about those hidden surprises he had already stumbled across? Would they have even noticed them in their current state? They were all so worked up, so nervous, so on edge-the prospect of freedom weighing heavily within each of their minds. What of the other ones that he himself had surely missed? He couldn't have possibly spotted all of the base apparent new, not so well hidden security features.

Then…why, then, hadn't they been picked up yet? Surely they knew of their presence. Were they really that in competent?

'There has been a lot less security and personnel than I'd expect, even in a base this size. Especially considering the presence of Rose-Boi, Sexy-Zechs and Psycho-Bitch-From-Hell. With so many leading figures and influential people, you'd think that someone in this shithole of a place who wants a quick boost up the power-ladder would be…trying…to…impress…them.'

Need for stealth abandoned, he ran, barrelling around the corner, silently eating up the distance between him and his destination speedily. He mentally went through their plans, trying to calculate which stage of the mission his comrades would be at.

'Given the time now, the speed at which they would have arrived at their first target, the download time…they should be near his Excellency's quarters, but not there yet' He thought, trying to keep his breathing even.

He turned the final corner. His eyes widened.

'Shit Shit Shit!'

To be continued


	6. Chapter Preview & Authors Notes

Silent Chapter Preview & Authors Notes:

Gah, sorry about this-but I need some help, hence the brief preview of what's to come, along with a quick question to readers/ reviewers.

In addition to 'Silent Revolution', which I plan to update weekly (if I get any reviews xD), I want to work on another story that I will also update once weekly. However, I'd like your opinions on which fanfiction to write next. Below is a list of fics I've got plans for. Please leave a review if there is one in particular you would like to see. If not, I'll, er…. Guess ..

**1** – '100 Moments of Happiness, Hell & general Discontent' – A pure gundam wing fanfiction that will be, surprise surprise, one hundred chapters in length, following one of the pilots through the war and into the preventors aftermath of the war. Humour, Romance and Angst. (Pairings are likely to be, but not set in stone: 2x6x13, 1x3, 4x5)

**2** – ' Unforeseen' – A pure gundam wing fanfiction; Two orphans, one caring lecturer, one accident. Five nations, one war. Can the arrival of three strangers save them before it is too late? Yaoi, AU, Fantasy, Romance, Angst, Action. (Pairings are a surprise)

**3 **– 'Somewhere I belong' – A Gundam Wing Naruto Crossover; set after the war during preventors timeline. Duo, deciding he has no place in the preventors, goes on a soul-searching mission to find somewhere he can call home. An unexpected attack, a rescue, a collapse, an interrogation. New friends, new enemies, but just who are the good guys here again? (Various Pairings, Yaoi, DuoShino, HakuZabuza, IrukaKakashi, WufeiSassuke, HeeroTrowaQuatre) Romance, Action.

**4** – 'Save Me' – A Gundam wing Harry Potter Crossover; AU bookverse, after war Gundamverse. After the war the pilots pair up; Heartbroken, a certain pilot attempts suicide, only to find he is not the only one of five to be left out in the cold. After a preventors mission gone wrong, our two pilots end up somewhere completely new. SlytherinHarry, Starting from HP summer before 1st year, following first the pilots, then HP characters, than alternating chapters. (Pairings: 3x13, HxV, HxS, HxSxV, 2xL) Romance, Fantasy

**5** – 'Overlords' – A Gundam Wing Harry Potter Crossover; Treize isn't as dead as everyone thought him to be. Oh no. One not so little explosion, and he's sent back to the Marauders Time Period. Too old to be a student, too young and inexperienced to get a job. With such troubled times, how will His Excellency cope during the first rise of He Who Must Not Be Named? (Various Yaoi Pairings; it's a surprise) Angst, Romance

**6** – 'One good deed cant go unpunished' – A Gundam Wing Charlie and the chocolate factory Crossover; Au to C&tCF (tickets happened, but Charlie dies – how? You'll have to wait & see) Duo/Willy, Duo/Willy/Quatre, Wufei/Trowa/Heero; After the war, our favourite braided pilot goes travelling. During his stay in England, he hears of a factory. During one night, he witnesses an attack. Several misunderstandings later, and he's a prisoner. Flashbacks, fuck-ups and numerous fiascos later, was it really all worth fighting for?

**7** – Re-write of Previous Fanfic; Any previous fanfics that I haven't updated since January 2007 that you want to se re-written & continued.

Well anyway, those are the ideas; I'd appreciate your opinions/ votes.

Quick note to gundamwinguniverse readers- some of you are still saying the formatting is messed up; my computer now shows chapters 1-5 on that site to be in perfect working order. If there is a problem, please let me know, and I'll, ah, try messing around with it…again…

I promised you a preview, so here it is:

**Chapter Six: Missions IIII Preview:**

'_It would be so simple…If they were to be injured….If they were to be captured…If they were to die…The war would continue. I would have a purpose-a place. It would take months for them all to recover-months more I would have with them all…After all, bad friends are better than no friends, aren't they? Or if they were captures-more missions-rescues. It would give me more time to prepare-to find somewhere to go after this all ends…. Either way….'_


	7. Chapter 6

Silent Chapter Five: Missions IIII

Authors Notes: oo ah, Thank you for the reviews and votes. From the reviews I have received from fanfiction dot net and gundamwinguniverse dot net it seems that the Naruto-gundam wing crossover has won. : ) I have started expanding my plans for it, and a first chapter should be up in about a week or so.

Thank-you so much for the reviews. It is so wonderful to hear both positive reviews from people who remember my old fanfic and prefer the newer, extended version, and to hear from those of you who take the time to help me with suggestions on how to further improve it still.

I would like to point out that any spelling mistakes I have missed with spellchecker are due to my lack of beta, and my own appalling spelling as I am mildly dyslexic (man, that word is a bugger to spell—I swear they spelt it like that to try and catch us out!)

For those who voted on re-writes: I am planning on eventually re-writing the majority of my old fanfics, however, I have decided to try taking it one at a time for now, so as to not get bogged down with updates again, leaving you for months at a time with no updates on some fics, and daily updates on others.

I am still not entirely sure what the hell is going on with my formatting on gundam wing universe. If anyone would like to volunteer to help me fix it XD

One last question: Should my new fanfic be posted in the gundam or the Naruto section on fanfiction dot net? Anyone? xD

Thank-you.

Chapter Five: Missions IIII

He turned the final corner. His eyes widened.

"ShitShitShit!"

He darted back around the corner. Falling into a crouch, his heart pounded, eyes wide.

His thoughts raced. "What do I do?"

He had seen them. Trowa and Wufei, each crouched at opposite sides of the doorway. They had the access codes, he knew. Entry would have been no problem. Both were focused so completely and utterly on the rooms-His Excellency's rooms- aware of nothing that was going on around them.

'It would be so simple…If they were to be injured, if they were captured, if they were to die… the war would continue. I'd have a purpose- a place. It would take months for them to recover-months more I would have with them all… bad friends are better than no friends, aren't they? Or if they were captured-more missions-rescue attempts. It would give me more time to prepare-to find somewhere to go after this all ends, either way…'

A group of heavily armed guards-three, scattered across the wide, harshly florescent lit hallway. Each of their gazes were focused on the two teenage terrorists-still children, really. Guns raised, approaching steadily and surely, each one ready to attack, to capture, to kill his unsuspecting comrades, whichever one may be called for.

"They could die. They could be shot and bleed to death. They both could die. It would break Heero and Quatre's hearts. I…I could stop all of this now….and…I-I, I'm considering doing nothing? Letting it happen? What is wrong with me?" He felt sick. He could feel razor-winged butterflies swarming around his stomach, rebelling against him, furious at his traitorous thoughts. He fought to keep his tasteless nutrient bar-the only thing lining his stomach-down.

He knew it would be foolish to do something. He wouldn't be able to get out, to get all of the guards before one of them took either him or one of his two comrades out. He knew that neither of them would stand a chance, unless, by some miracle, Heero and Quatre started a distraction now.

'Example number one as to why you never let your guard down or your thoughts wander when in enemy territory, kiddies'

He knew that it would be suicide at best. But he knew that he could not do nothing. He couldn't just stand back and see them die. Now whilst he could help them.

His hand fell to his side. reaching behind him into the waist of his jeans, where he kept his Colt, out of the way whilst being within easy reach when he was setting the explosives earlier, in a place unlikely to hinder him, he drew his weapon.

He had no time to waste attaching a silencer- he had wasted more than he could safely afford already. The guards would be upon them in a matter of seconds. He had to act now.

'I'm sorry for even considering it-considering allowing you to die. I will make it up to you. I'm so sorry.'

He steeled himself. With steady hands, he took aim. None of the usual fear, the adrenaline, none of the excitement or anxiety, none of the usual sick horror took hold of him. All he could feel was a calm, a sense of ease and acceptance consuming him.

'If I die, it will be for a just cause'

He shot of three bullets in quick-succession. Two of the three met their mark. Small, steel bullets worked their way through blood and bone, tearing flesh, ripping apart skin and tendons, burning the edges of the wounds even at such a distance. One lodged itself in the heart of the guars furthest away from their targets, having been half-turned from them, allowing Duo a good shot at his chest. The other made its way into the back of the skull of one of the remaining guards. The bone shattered, the matter within turning to pulp. A grey and pink puddle spread out from the fallen corpse, the walls splattered with the slime matter the second of impact. His body took the longest to fall.

The third, however, missed its mark. It nicked his heart, instead, finding its way into his lungs. He had the time to raise his gun, luck more than aim allowing his shot to hit the alarm, before convulsions overtook him. He would die within a matter of minutes, alone and in pain, no longer a threat to them, or their cause.

The alarm blared.

They sprang into action. Spinning away, they each took a separate corridor, sparing a glance behind them, back over their shoulders. Neither looked at the for, at the bodies littering the walkway. Nor did they notice the filth now covering the walls, slowly sliding down, leaving a gory trail behind in its wake. Each of them zoomed in on the one figure standing in that corridor. Gun raised, eyes calm. He knew what he was doing. They followed his gaze. The alarm-old school style, glass covering a simple panic-button. Glass that showed spider webbing and a small bullet whole, a button, no doutedly, embedded with a bullet.

"03, this is 04. Abort the mission, repeat, abort the mission. There are signs of increased military activity. Get out of there. We will do the rest"

They each took an air vent, the pounding of military issue boots echoing endlessly around the corridors, warning them off. Neither gave the braided boy a second glance as they left. They each gave him more than a second thought, though, as they crawled hastily through the dusty vents, hands, knees and cloths alike catching on rough stray screws and un-sanded corners alike, leaving a bloody trail for none but the rats to follow.

It wouldn't be till later that night either would entertain thoughts as to why he would do such a thing. But the seeds of doubt were already planted within their minds. Was it an act of idiocy, or one of a traitor?

'Goodbye Wufei, Trowa. Someone needs to distract the soldiers until you can get back to the bikes and tell the cavalry that it's safe to start shooting at the base. It was a pleasure knowing you all…at first…perhaps it was the ideal of you all-people just like me-my age, similar responsibilities, similar experiences- that I longed for, that I deluded myself into believing in the beginning. I suppose, though, that you will never know the truth. I didn't betray you. I had a choice. Your lives or mine. I made my choice. Now I must face the consequences. On my own. Shinigami help me.

To be continued

(If people review!)


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven – Owie I**

**To the pissy reviewer Aurora Musis Amica : I care not. Your opinion does not matter in the slightest to me, as you have nothing constructive to say.**

**Warnings: flashback/ memory of potentially disturbing content.**

'….Owie….' A low, pain filled groan echoed throughout the seemingly tiny, cold metal space.

"AH!" He let out a gasp, pain shooting through every inch of his body. His nerves seemed to be on fire – a result, no doubt, of the concoction of new chemicals they had injected into his system; even a gundam pilot couldn't be immune to everything, after all, not after all the technological and biological advances forced upon them because of war. A slow scientist was a useless scientist, after all, which meant a dead scientist. The faster one researches, the more likely one is to stay in favour.

Not an inch of skin failed to scream at him, crying out in pain. Hundreds of tiny little lines covered his body from small, precisely made cuts. Some from scalpels made by the dear-doctors attempting to verify who, exactly, he was, some from special interrogators brought in just for lil' ol' him, others from the regular guards, bored, seeking a brief amusement. His back alone was testament to that. Jagged lines, gouges where flesh had been torn out completely, entire strips of skin missing as though pealed from his back.

It had been years since he had last been whipped with a belt, not since his time on L2, on the streets, as a child. He had only ever allowed himself to be caught that once by a shop keeper.

She had looked so friendly and kind, the motherly, middle-aged type of woman. She hadn't been, though. Of course not. She had been just like everyone else on that godforsaken colony. Out for herself. Who could blame her? Life was too hard, too short in the slums of space.

She had a husband-the owner of their small bakery. He had been none too pleased to come home to his wife- the woman seething, though not letting the child know. She had been an expert at masks. She had had her husband completely under her control.

It was she who had told him-no, ordered him, to do it. And so he had. The massive, wall of a man-all muscle from years upon years of hard work, of lifting and working in intense heat all day, had taken off his long, thick, sturdy belt. It had had a slightly rusted metal buckle, from years of use and miss care. Small flakes of the metal had come off during the whipping, falling, worming their way into his wounds.

Rough hands and a gruff voice had ordered him into position, tying his hands in front of him to a piece of metal piping sticking out from the cold back store rooms wall with a piece of old, ratty shoelace. The same hands carefully removing his filthy, huge t-shirt from him moments later, as though remembering how hard it was to find clothing when on the streets, showing that much respect to the little urchin anyway.

He had screamed when the first stroke hit. The man knew what he was doing. He hadn't known it could hurt so much-not from a simple, single hit. He had seen one of the older boys' before-Junno, he had called himself. He had been nine, or about there, when he had gone into the trade. The trade, as they referred to it, was streetwalking, prostitution. Looked down upon by the majority of the thieves and beggars on the streets, the older ones-those who usually kept themselves to themselves, having long ago learned it was every man, woman and child for themselves, warned the children away from it.

Better to starve, better to catch the plague, better to be beaten to death, than to get involved in that trade. A sure-fire way to attract the wrong kind of persons attention-especially so young.

He had seen him that day. He had been looking through a dumpster. The market had been closed for almost three days, the weather system having gone on the fritz again; allowing freezing cold winds to let rip, and torrential rain to pour down, resulting in snow and ice across various parts of the colony.

He had seen Junno. Wearing those ratty, skin-tight jeans that he was so proud of – a gift from one of his first customers, and a much too large shirt left open-more than likely pilfered from another customer.

It had been his fault. It had been. He had been the one stupid enough to get mixed up in that business-everyone knew you just didn't do it. You didn't. Not that young. Not it you could help it. Not unless you were funny in the head.

But Junno had. And he had paid the price.

The wide, violet eyes of a child, three at that time, had watched, as a man- dark suit-black, burgundy shirt, black hair with grey peppered throughout, had backhanded the boy into a wall. He had grabbed him by the back of his neck when Junno had turned to run.

He weakly kicked and screamed, fighting his hardest to get away. But he couldn't. He had caught too many diseases from various sources by that point. The cold was getting to him. It was futile.

Even from that distance, he had heard the crack as the older boys arm had snapped like an old, brittle forgotten rats skull on a back ally floor. He swore people from miles around would have heard his screams.

One of the old tramps – Genève, in her early twenties, had come down for him. She had seen him, cowering behind the bins from her hiding spot in one of the warehouses. She hadn't had the heart to allow the boy to watch as Junno's trousers were ripped from him, the older man-a customer who obviously felt his prices unfair- advanced on Junno, crying and writhing in pain.

His first scream was like that, that sound Junno had made when his arm had been snapped. It had been shrill and panicked and pure and full of fear and pain. It shone with the innocent terror of a child, unable to understand why this was happening to him.

He had only been three or four at that time. But it had taught him well. After he was done, the man had looked apologetic. He had asked him his name. He hadn't known what to say. He couldn't remember a name. He could barely remember anything before the streets and the cold and the endless, sharp hunger pangs. Violet eyes-a gaunt, young face, something wet, dripping onto his face. Two older people-shouting at the violet-eyes girl? Teenager? Demanding….something.

He was going to let him stay the night, or give him something to eat-maybe both. He had kind eyes, for a L2 born and bread man. He had held him briefly, trying to comfort him as fat, desperate tears made their way down his tiny elfin face, leaving rivers of skin visible through the grime and dirt.

But then his wife had returned. She had said she would deal with him-see him back alright. She had taken him through the bakery.

He had glanced back, once, at the man who had caused him so much pain, and yet shown him more compassion than he could remember.

He had been led-dragged, really, by his arm. Her clean, weatherworn hands had gripped his tiny arm with a bruising force, digging into the filthy, delicate skin. She had taken him into one of the baking rooms.

She had lifted him up onto one of the counters, so she could speak to him, eye to eye. She had hissed what a worthless, thieving little street rat of a bastard he was. She had laid on thick the promises of what would happen should she see him again.

She held his arm over one of the hobs, pressing it down onto the red hot metal.

It lasted no more than a thirty seconds, a minute at most. To him, it seemed like an eternity.

His shrieks of pain and terror had brought the large man running. But all he could smell was his own sizzling flesh. He curled up into a ball, cradling his arm to his chest as he rocked, trying to comfort himself.

He was vaguely aware as the giant of a man hit his wife, backhanding her into a wall. There was shouting, one furious, one indignant.

He saw his dirty, ratty t-shirt fall to the floor, forgotten. He took his chance, darting out to get it, before running.

It had almost killed him, getting caught that first time. But it had also saved him. Genève had found him again, and this time, she had introduced him to some of the street rats his own age. To Solo.

The walls seemed to be pressing down on him. Never in his long, long, fifteen years of living had he felt the slightest twinge of fear when it came to the dark. When it came to water? Yes- never had an L2 gutter rat seen so much water as a river, let along an ocean. When it came to a forest? Of course- never before had he seen terrain such as that-so natural, the furthest thing from the man-made jungle he was used to surviving in. when it came to fires? Childhood had taught him that water was too precious of a commodity to waste on such things, and once on fire, it was likely to be recovered.

But the dark? Not during the cold, harsh dark nights on the streets as a child, living in warehouses and sleeping under dumpsters whenever possible. Not during his first trip off of the colony where he believed he was born on, when hidden away in that packing crate. Not even during that first night on Earth, when a storm so harsh it blocked out the moon and starts blew in, trapping him miles from his gundam, still too far from the safe house to make it back safely until morning, forcing him to spend the night in a forest.

It was so dark. So silent. Too much nothingness, pressing in on him, choking him, suffocating him, destroying him slowly from the inside out.

Bruised and swollen, mottled purple-blue eyelids fluttered open. Bloodshot eyes strained, trying desperately to see something, anything, anyone.

'Why cant I learn to just keep my big mouth shut?' He grit his teeth. He could feel the muscles in his face crying out in pain. He tried moving his jaw tentivley. It felt stiff and slow, protesting to the slightest of movements.

The soldier in him demanded that he first assess the situation, then his own condition. The teenager in him tried desperately to convince him to lie back down, give in to the pounding in his temples, just behind his eyes, that felt as though a gundam was stomping away up there, and go back into the sweet realms of unconsciousness.

Soldier won over teenager, as it had in every past instance.

He lay on the hard, cold metal floor of one of Oz's finest gundam-proof, all-inclusive suites. No bed, no sheets, no toilet or washing facilities of any kind. Not even a bucket. 'Well, on the upside, they hardly ever remember to feed me, so needing the toilet shouldn't be a problem…for a while, at least' he thought to himself. He had half-surprised that they had remembered to give the cells a ventilation system. Prisoners, after all, hardly deserved to share the same air as them, did they?

He focused on trying to see past the pain. His wrists were still pulled tauntly behind his back, painfully positioned into metal, electronically locked cuffs. They tightly secured his wrists, preventing any real movement in his arms.

It was cold. He could feel the cool of the frigid, loudly gurgling air system seeping through his clothes in places, meeting no resistance in others, as his clothes, or rather, what was left of them, were torn and ripped, blood soaking the white to crimson.

Flashback

"Sssshiiiiit" Let out a hissed curse under his breath, eyes impossibly wide. He knelt on one knee, doubled over in pain. His stomach was screaming at him in protest to its rough treatment, as a large, dirty fist pulled away from the already bruised, abused flesh.

He stumbled toward, his arms previously wrenched painfully behind his back released suddenly. He gasped for breath, no witty retort or smart remark making it to his split, bloody lips. He was too busy focusing on breathing, on staying on his feet.

"Off"

He didn't spare them a glance from where he crouched on the metal floor, as the harsh voice of his guards reached his ears. His mind raced, replaying the scene again and again, over and over in his mind. It was as if he had been on autopilot from the second he had pulled that trigger. He took in nothing of what was going on around him, from the fight to his capture, his initial interrogation to his cell.

"I said, take 'em off!"

The voice barked again.

Smack!

His face flew to one side, cheek stinging. He blinked, violet eyes turning slowly upwards to face his tormentors. There were three of them. Large, heavy men in uniform. Each face showed a different emotion. One, leering at him, his excitement obvious. One grinning, a manic, sadistic glint in his eyes. One cold, calculated, his anger, frustration more focused, channelled.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

It clicked. "There's no fuckin' way I'm takin my clothes off, you sick mother fu-"

He fell as a steel-toe capped boot came in contact with his temple. He lay there, dazed, even his will unable to overcome the pounding.

"-all on orders. Need to check 'em for evidence and weapons, don't we?"

He came around to hands. Hands holding him down with brutal, bone-bruising force, one pair on his wrists, pulled tightly, taunt above his head. One pair holding his ankles down and together. He squirmed uselessly, bucking against them. He swore, using every curse-word he knew in English, then in Japanese, then those he had picked up from a certain two pilots in Cantonese, Mandarin and Arabic.

They laughed. A final pair of hands ripped and tore at buttons and cloth. A knife appeared in the fray within minutes.

He wouldn't do it, though. He did not let one tear fall. His eyes closed for no more than a second, his gaze always locked on one of them, piercing them, penetrating them. They may have only been looking for now, humiliating him, roughing him up, getting started, following orders. But he doubted it would be the last of it.

End of Flashback

His chest still felt as though it was on fire. A mottled blue-black mass covered the once-pale expanse.

'One, two…shit, four' he pressed at his chest, gritting his teeth through the pain as he felt for broken ribs. He was on his back, thankfully. He couldn't have turned himself over for anything. 'Dislocated shoulder' he guessed-he hoped. He was no perfect soldier-no setting his own bones; he knew if it were broken, he truly would be screwed. Not that he could put it back in place dislocated either, but still.

He managed to lift his head high enough from the ground, cautiously lifting his leg. His right ankle was a swollen mess. Sprained or broken, either way it would be a long while before it would be able to support his weight-even longer if it wasn't seen to sometime soon. 'Shit….ShitShitShit!'

Moving caused wounds to reopen. Four gunshot wounds-none of them clean, each row swollen, infected, oozing and still containing their bullets; one in his left shoulder, causing muscles and tendons to cry, refusing to comply with the simplest of commands. One in his right calf, one in his lower, right arm, one wedged into his hip. A graze on his cheek from a near-miss oozed sluggishly. Every inch of visible, once creamy pale skin was now stained a dark blue-black, green-yellow, purple.

'Basically, I'm screwed. Completely and utterly screwed' He let out a hollow, half hysterical laugh. He had no chance of escaping, even without his current injuries.

He knew. Of course he knew. Even in they-even if the other pilots did, by some miracle, come back for him; it would all be over even quicker. He would be a liability, one that they could not afford. He would be terminated, 'for the good of the mission,' no questions asked.

Of course, insulting the guards' parentage hadn't been his brightest idea. Nor had some of the variety of, ah, shall we say, creative insults towards their good selves during his interrogation helped his situation in the slightest.

After all, they still didn't know who, or why he was there. Just that he was. And their suspicions.

He let out a long, ragged sigh. He could feel it already-his breaths far too shallow and erratic to be considered normal. It was so cold. He was too far gone for his body to attempt to shiver any longer. He desperately wanted to shift, to find a more comfortable position. He knew it would do more damage than good.

'Look's like my luck's finally run out, ne, Shinigami? It's time to pay for what I've done. I know I won't be joining you up there, Sister Helen, Father Maxwell. There's no way they'd let me in up there with a blackened soul like mine. You, Solo, you-will you be down there to greet me? Always together-you swore to me, all those years ago. I don't think so, though. Selfless to the end, weren't you, rat-king? I'll bet you're up there with Sister Helen and Father Maxwell, laughing your arse off at me' His lips twisted involuntary into a small smile, sending painful twinges shooting through his face.

He tried to make light of the situation. ''Just my luck I'm going to die a virgin''

All those years of the streets. Sleeping in alleyways, behind dumpsters, in abandoned factories. Living hour to hour, going days without a meal. After being taken in by the church, it, along with his braid and the good Sisters cross, were all that he had left, all that was truly his. The only parts of him that had remained untainted.

Click. Swoosh. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You Wish, pretty boy. You will be begging for death by the time that we are through with you."

Six guards. Smirking. Getting closer. Too close. Too many. Too much.

Pain filled violet widened in fear. He tried desperately to push himself back, to make it to the wall, to try and escape.

The doors closed alone, in the dark, with only his six soon to be rapists for company. He whimpered.

"No…"

End of chapter Seven.

**Authors Notes – Please review, and I shall continue to update. Also: The first chapter of 'Somewhere I belong' was posted on Monday-chapter two should be up by early next week at the latest. Thank-you.**

**Just to let you know: the entire Duo's past thing, along with some of the more graphic descriptions of his state? XD Wasn't in the original re-write of this. It's just something that came to me whilst typing this up, and, I thought it would fit in nicely. : ) Let me put it this way: this chapter was just under three pages when I started typing it up XD**


	9. Important Notice

Update: Ah. Tantrum Over with : ) Thank-you so much for the positive response. I shall continue to update despite any negitivity this may recieve.

May I just make this clear- It's not that someone has not liked it that had pissed me off, it's that someone has taken the time to just say how shit it, and I am, rather than saying; okay, this is why I dont like it, this is how I think you could have done better.

To top it all off, those who flamed havent even written a one-shot themsleves. Oh well. Talentless and bitter. Oh My. (Okay...the anger is still leaving...gradually. I should be continueing now. Somewhere I belong is due to be updated first, however the next chapter may be a day or so late.)

Author Notes:

Should My Works be abandoned? Apparently I have bastardised the characters, and have never watched the series.

I wonder, then, what that DVD box set and manga collection are doing in my hallway then.

Extremely pissed off. Out of the reviews received today, several I have deleted due to their rudeness and non-constructive criticism, others I have left due to my sheer annoyance at their stupidity.

Until further notice I shall not be updating. No, wait, fuck that—I'm not letting you bastards win.

Let's see:

If you want this continued, review and let me know. If not, I shall not update a fic of any fandom again.

Thank-you

My apologise for ranting. Just be thankful the phone went off so I could rant there first.


	10. Chapter 8 Edited Version

Silent Revolution:

Authors Notes: I will try to make this quick;

One, my thanks for the reviews and the support. It was awesome to see so many positive reviews .. I was more than a little shocked.

Two, for the person who so bravely reviewed anonymously on gundamwinguniverse, saying that I was just seeking attention and that they had found no flames in the reviews on that site. My I just point out that this is my secondary posting site, fanfiction dot net being my primary, mediaminer dot org being my third. You would have realised this is you had paid attention. In addition to this, reviews on fanfiction dot net, as a few have done – my thanks – can check for themselves for the remaining flames amongst the reviews.

Thirdly, I would like to make this clear; I write what I love, when I like, for myself. If I did not do this, it would be unlikely that I would be applying for a popular fiction writing course for my university course. The main question, however, was whether or not I continued to share my work with people online. In my mind, this fic has long been planned and completed, the sequel already half-done.

I would like to thank reviewers. I know my writing can be odd, it can be dark, it can seem as though it has gone off on a tangent. However, I aim to build a character-their background, their personality, the reason for each of their actions, through the various flashbacks, their reactions to situations, their thoughts, through everything. I cannot express how happy it has made me to learn that my new, improved style is working. Even a quick 'update please' is appreciated, although I admit I love the larger reviews left.

Now that that is done with, I would like to mention; I finally got my laptop! It took a lot of saving, but this means I can now start typing up updates whilst out or away from my main computer. More updates of various fics! Woot xD

More updates – rants happy readers: )

Thank-you again

(any gaiaonline users – feel free to talk to me on there xD Username: ladyshi )

Chapter Eight: No Hope I

CHAPTER WARNING!

FF dot NET READERS: this chapter has been heavily edited for your viewing. Please go to gundam-wing-universe dot net for the full, unedited version

GUNDAMWINGUNIVERSE READERS: This will be R/Nc17 at points. These are clearly indicated. For the edited version, go to fanfiction dot net. The scene that has been labelled as R to Nc17 is due to a potentially graphic rape scene. which may be offensive to people. Please skip this clearly-labelled scene if you may find them offensive or are not of age.

No Hope I:

Six weeks. It had taken six weeks for it to happen. That's forty two days. One thousand and eight hours. Sixty thousand four hundred and eight minutes. Three million six hundred and twenty eight thousand eight hundred seconds. For Duo Maxwell to break.

He had suffered through hell for six weeks. Six. Fucking. Weeks.

His injuries, both those he had obtained before his capture, and those he had acquired during his stay in the wonderful establishment that his oh so hospitable captors had provided for him.

He had been 'acquiring' injuries since shortly before the guards first 'session' with him. They had only decided to give him treatment because he had lost consciousness. Due to blood loss. They would have done nothing at all, which, in retrospect, would have been better for the braided pilot.

Flashback

Tap Tap Tap Tap

Ssssssh

"Put him over here" A voice-male, requested with a sigh.

Two soldiers in full uniform dragged the unconscious teen between them, each holding an arm with a firm, bruising grip. His hands were still firmly secured behind his back.

"And just who have we got here today, gentlemen?" the same man asked.

He could hear him faintly, groggily, as though listening to a conversation in another room whilst underwater.

He was manhandled unceremoniously up onto the examination table. It was cold. He couldn't muster the energy to make the slightest move, twitch the tiniest bit.

"unconfirmed Doctor."

Violet orbs cracked open. He watched through blood encrusted eyelashes as the doctor-young, in his mid to late twenties, of Euroasian decent from what he could see, wearing the typical long white coat over a relatively smart outfit. He had short, messy dark hair and clear, light eyes.

He gave the soldiers a sharp look over small, rectangular wire-rimmed glasses, perched precariously on his nose

"oh?" he asked, tone friendly but clipped, a hint of steel underlying in his soft, melodious voice.

"he was captured in the, ah, incident at our base near L-4 earlier this week, Sir" One of the two soldiers supplied.

One neatly kept eyebrow raised in disbelief as he took a step back from the bed, allowing the guards to continue with their jobs. "and you have yet to discern her-his? Identity?" He peered down at Duo's chest, brushing the fabric to one side in order to confirm his sex. "and how, may I ask, did he acquire so many injuries in such a short space of time? Wait, no- I do not want to know. It's just my job to fix him"

He gave the guards a warm smile, motioning for them to leave, now that the prisoner come patient was securely chained to the bed.

He turned cool, calculated eyes on the prone teenagers' body. "I don't care who you are, or what you do. As long as you can pay for my services."

End of Flashback

When he had been taken, drifting in and out of consciousness, by the soldiers to the nearest medical bay, he had been sporting various injuries.

His shoulder had been dislocated, bullet wounds still having the bullets in them, his ankle was still swollen, dark and resembling a grapefruit in size, his wrist still sending shooting pains continuously up and down through his arms, his hand virtually useless. His chest burned, cracked and broken ribs shifting with each woozy breath in and out, in and out. Infection had started setting in, each of his wounds and grazes oozing and inflamed. He felt thirsty all the time, no doubt suffering from dehydration, and weak, his head pounding with what he would guess was a serious concussion.

The Dear Doctor, after clearing out the medical bay-an easy task, as he was short-handed and the soldiers guarding their favourite little prisoner had no interest in watching too closely, whilst the doctor was around, unable to have their usual fun in his presence, safe in the knowledge that, once cuffed spread-eagled to the metal bed, he would be going nowhere.

He had done the bare minimum to treat him. Pumping enough antibiotics into his system to keep the infection at bay for days, a week at most, to ensure his return. A little support for his ribs-tape, and a quick tug at his wrist. He had found, after much probing, that it had clicked out of place, contributing to its poor condition. The only wounds that had truly been paid much attention to were those on his face.

The guards had been careful when it came to his face, but a nasty gash had still made its way onto his temple, his lips swollen and bruised from repeated, brutal use. The skin was still mottled and grimy. His lips, once full and glossy, now cracked and sore. It was a miracle that all of his teeth had remained undamaged.

The Doctor had, however, expected payment for his services, as he had said. Prisoners, especially those whose identities had yet to be disconcerted, were not exactly allowed access to cash or credit cards. Payment was taken via other means

Flashback –

FANFICTION dot NET READERS – This scene has been edited out for you. Please go to gundam-wing-universe dot net for the unedited version

Warning – M/R/Nc17; Rape Scene. Please go to fanfiction dot net for edited version, or skip down to the 'END OF FLASHBACK' which ends the potential R/Nc17-ness

End of Flashback END OF POTENTIAL R-SCENE

The Doctor had advised the soldiers to bring him in regularly if they were to continue their current activities. They had chosen to listen to his advice.

With up to six sessions a day with anywhere between two to eight guards at a time, they had little choice but to seek medical treatment for him. Add to that interrogation sessions, the usual pure-torture one would expect, with far less food that was needed to aid his recovery, days without sleep, the few stolen hours plagued with nightmares, no warmth to speak of, hardly helped by the long, think shirt-now his only clothing, and only the freezing, metal floor of his cell for comfort.

The Doctor had been forced to put him on a drip during his time in the medbay, to feed and sedate him. It hadn't lasted.

Duo Maxwell, unsurprisingly, was well and truly broken, in body and in mind. He never cried out, never begged, never pleaded, not after that first, unforgiving time.

His gaze became blank, hollow. His eyes, dead. His masks had cracked, had caved in, had crumbled, and this was all that was left.

The guards, at first, thinking that his lack of speech was the last of the boy's defiance shining through, were enraged. They remembered the little hellcat that they had first had so much fun with. They wanted the kicking, the screaming, the begging and the pleading back. It was much more enjoyable when their little fucktoy wasn't playing at being a corpse.

They tried their hardest to force the smallest sob, the quietest whimper, so much as a breathy gasp from his lips. After much grumbling and complaining, they had finally convinced one of their number to approach the good doctor with their complaints.

He had brushed them off, saying it was to be expected whilst he was healing. They should be thankful that he was behaving and quiet, rather than hallucinating and throwing up. That had finally silenced them.

Not once did it occur to them that, with what they were forcing upon him, in order to protect himself, he had blocked it all out, that he had forgotten how, that he was now unable to speak.

They had kept him for six weeks of fruitless questioning, after which they received orders to transfer him to an Earth facility. They still had not a clue as to his name, age, rank, or why he had been at the base.

The doctor had, of course, protested strongly against the movement of his patient, let alone a transfer of such a distance. It could be damaging to his health, to his recovery-to their chances of retrieving the information that they sought. His words had fallen silent quickly. No-one wanted to risk a closer inspection. They could not afford it.

The harsh, sullen words of two soldiers, getting 'what they could whilst they still could' had penetrated his shell.

The slightest spark of hope had re-entered hollow, haunted eyes upon hearing the talk of his transfer. Maybe...maybe the other pilots would come for him then, or, at the very least, perhaps the soldiers and the doctors at the new base would treat him differently.

"Either way...things cannot get worse..."

To Be Continued.


	11. Chapter 9

Silent Revolution – Chapter Nine – Arrival

Violet-indigo starred dully, gaze completely void of emotions, face blank, into the darkness of his small metal prison.

His new cell was not unlike his old. However, it's inhabitant had changed, almost beyond recognition.

Flashback

"I'm so sorry to see you go, my lovely" A large, soft hand stroked a bruise mottled, cracked cheek. He pulled the needle from the soft flesh of his arm, wiping at the small trickle of blood that wound its way down his pale, limp arm.

They had been keeping him drugged for almost a week, locked away in the medbay, in a small, private room. Clinical, far too white, harshly light, and with that god-awful chemical smell that only doctors and hospitals seemed to be able to produce. Pure bliss, if not for one little thing; the good doctor, although the only one, had still been allowed access to him.

They needed to make sure that he was at least somewhat presentable. What could be healed in a week would have to make do, the rest, hidden, in case of an enquiry. Unlikely, but still a possibility. Better to cover one's own tracks than to take unnecessary risks.

"But orders are orders" he let out a sigh, tracing the pale, plump lips with his fingertips. Placing the syringe down, he allowed his hands to fall, softly gliding over a half-covered chest, lightly tracing pebbled nipples with the tips of his nails. He pinched and plucked at them, watching with smug satisfaction as they turned from a milky, dusty pale to glowing cherry. He abandoned them with a mournful heart, pouting faintly at being denied the chance to play with his toy one last time.

Sharp eyes caught sight of a flint of silver, peeking out from beneath the loose fabric.

"A parting gift-to remember you by" He smirked softly, as he took the chain and cross from around the delicate neck, faint traces of bruising still healing. He pocked the well-worn, loved chain without a second thought.

Quickly, efficiently, methodically, he buttoned up the new white cotton shirt-new, as in new for his patient, not newly bought. Another 'generous donation' from the god doctor. Flimsy white shorts, barely resting at upper-mid thigh, clung to his hips. He had no underwear or shoes, and now, no jewellery.

His hair, still a filthy, tangled mess, hung in a half-hearted attempt at a braid, the end fastened with a rubber band. Yet another example of the good doctors work. He didn't want them-any of them, looking at his little angel with his hair down.

Had he been able to think coherently, he may have preferred being nude to clothed, for all the god that those clothes did to cover him.

"Perhaps you will be fortunate enough to be in the care of someone, like myself, who will appreciate your beauty, and treat you as I have."

End of Flashback

He had expected an attempt at rescue, or, most likely, a termination. Either would have been preferable to what had happened.

Boarding the shuttle had not been a problem; being sedated, strapped to a stretcher and under the watchful eyes of eight remotely competent soldiers assured that. He was vaguely aware of the conversations, the movements, the smells around him, he just could not more, not see more than a blur.

During launch, there had been no problems. The soldiers had quickly lost their interest in watching the unmoving teen, instead talking to each other rowdily.

During the twelve-hour shuttle flight, there were no problems. Not so much as a sighting of a mobile-suit, friend or foe, not even any notable, drifting debris from a long-past mobile suit battle.

Entry into the Earth's atmosphere was as turbulent as to be expected, the most notable event being one of the soldiers-a colony born man in his mid twenties, on his first trip to Earth, forgetting to secure himself into his seat properly. From the sickening crack and the warm, sticky flecks that he could faintly feel on his exposed skin, Duo would hazard a guess that the young man's first trip Earth side would also be his last.

Had this have happened weeks earlier, he would have winced uncomfortably at the easily made amateur mistake, before making a joke about pitying the poor sod who would have to fill out the young lad's death certificate and the incident report. Had this have happened weeks earlier, he wouldn't have been in the state, both physically and mentally, that he was in.

The landing went off without a hitch, the body, miraculously not knocking anyone out when it slid sharply across the cabin, becoming, thankfully, lodged towards one end of the cabin.

The transfer was simple, a new doctor, this time with short, pitch black hair, tanned, caramel skin and eyes like jade, roughly but professionally inserted yet another needle into the damaged vein in his upper arm, those of his lower arm having been too badly damaged to be used for quite some time, injecting him with a dose of sedatives.

In a blur of lights, endless metal corridors, low harsh voices and faint, muffled boots, he was in his cell.

The door closed with a resounding clang.

It stayed that way for near-one six hours.

New guards came to introduce themselves.

They were not interrupted.

It wasn't until the early hours of the next morning, or so he would assume, having no way to tell what time of the day it was in his windowless prison, that he thought about it.

Nothing. They had not even tried, not even attempted anything. No rescue attempt, no assassination attempt. Nothing.

The faint, last clinging spark of hope in those expressive violet eyes flickered and died that morning.

Another month passed.

The guards revealed themselves, unbelievably, to be even rougher and more brutal than before. It didn't matter to him anymore. He had begun his retreat.

As his hope had died, he clung to his few happy memories, mainly of his time with the other pilots, the early days. But all too soon they too faded, leaving the horror of the present, and the nightmares the guards left him with.

Faint memories drifted across his semi-conscious mind, the pain and the drugs constantly affecting him.

A boy with long, dirty, shaggy blond hair and deep green eyes, giving him a name, protection, love...so? Sol? Slow?... A pretty lady, dressed like a penguin...something about hair...her hair? His hair?...a silver...something...he couldn't...quite...remember...

Soon, soon it would be too late. Soon he would pass the point of no return.

Luckily for him, fate was having an off day, and, in a way, decided to give him a break, in one of the most unusual, unsuspected ways.

To Be Continued

Authors Notes – Short and late. Apologies. It's a quarter past midnight here. I haven't started the next chapter of Somewhere I belong yet. Its due in a few hours. Gah. Any gaiaonline users who want to talk (I'm bored xD) feel free to pm me at: Ladyshi

Anyone got a good fic recommendation? Pref. Naruto, Harry Potter (without HBP or DH spoilers), GDW, LotR (Figwit!), BtVS/AtS, or anything really that's long xD .. my brain is melting from the boredom. Help?


	12. Chapter 10

Silent Revolution

Authors Notes: Thank you for the reviews & recommendations. For the reviewer who reviewed yaoi for the first time- thank you so much for the review! It was awesome to read what you wrote. I'm similar when it comes to het; I tend not to read it, but even if I do, I don't ever really review. Thank you so much for taking the time to review.

Chapter four of 'somewhere I belong' is half way done and very late. My apologies .

Chapter three of 'Upheavel' will be posted once I find out where the bloody hell I left the notebook I wrote it in ..'

Chapter eleven of silent revolutions should be due soon.

I get my AS results on Thursday worries wish me luck!

….

(If I fail, Duo dieeees! –Insert evil laughter- oo …. xD Nooo, I cant do that to him ;-; even I'm not that evil xD)

Silent Revolution - Chapter Ten – Inspection

"_In addition, our annual spending on miscellaneous, surplus equipment has risen over that last quarter, due to unforeseen circumstances we believe to have been generated by our general lack of….."_

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Ice blue eyes narrowed beneath a sleek gundanium half-mask. His jaw twitched, mouth set in a stern line, teeth clenched firmly together. Long-fingered, slender hands, encased in soft white gloves, clenched and unclenched at his side, one arm firmly behind his back as he stood to attention on the right hand side.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

She shifted from one foot to the other slowly, both hands clasped firmly behind her back. Small, round gold spectacles glinted in the half light. Sky blue eyes hardened, lips pursed. She stood to the left.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

One small, lightly tanned hand pressed tightly against pale, plump lips. The bluenette desperately tried to stifle her giggles. She stood, bend double, off to one side, thankfully out of the view of the three large vidscreens.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

In the centre of it all, behind a long, ebony table, seated in a large, black leather chair, facing numerous screens, sat the cause of all of the amusement and agitation.

Glazed Prussian blue eyes gazed blankly in the general direction of the three screens. He lent forward, chin resting on one glove-encased palm, tawny locks in their usual perfect state. He nodded every now and then, hm-ing when a nod wasn't enough.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Along the wall, to one side, just out of view of the three screens, stood a long, ebony cabinet. Upon said cabinet, stood a long row of small, to scale model figures.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Of miniature, model mobile suits.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Tauros, Leos, mobile dolls.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

One of each of the five known gundams.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

The Tallgease, his favourite Lieutenant and childhood friend's mobile suit, his own beloved Tallgease II.

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Even a little doll that was, supposedly, supposed to be him. Dressed in a matching little uniform and boots, rose and all. Une had been highly amused when she had found it, sitting innocently amongst a mountain of gifts and personal mail that she had been sorting through for his Excellency

Flick. Thwack. Flick. Thwack.

Prussian blue eyes honed in on his target. Finger pulled back, poised, he aimed, target within his sights.

Flick. Thwack. Thump.

"Yes!" He smirked.

"Your Excellency?"

He blinked. He looked up at the screens, smoothing out his expression. "Just answering one of my lieutenants, Captain. Please continue." He smiled disarmingly at the centre screen.

He had almost forgotten he was in a conference. Almost. 'Damn'

His lips quirked as Noin, unable to stifle her giggles anymore, ducked out of the room. Her laughter could still be heard through the firmly closed door.

He had to stifle his own giggles, one white gloved hand pressing to his mouth, faking a yawn, as he looked again at the display. Peanuts surrounded the row of suits. Some hadn't made it to the cabinet, instead littering the floor, along with the few suits that had fallen prey to his fearsome attacks.

His last target had been a success. Well, it had hit. The results, however...

The miniature Treize doll now lay, horizontal, above the fallen model of Shenlong, its small head between the gundams spread legs.

Une's mouth twitched, her only outward show of emotion. She really had mellowed somewhat since she had started dating again.

'I knew she just needed to get laid' He thought to himself. 'Milly, on the other hand...' He glanced at his blond friend.

Treize Kushrenada was bored. Completely, and utterly, bored-out-of-his-mind,-i'm-gonna-fall-asleep-if-you-dont-amuse-me-now-damnit bored. Not that anyone, save two certain lieutenants and a Cournel, had noticed yet. He had sat through several long, tedious meetings, back to back, for fourteen hours straight now. After an eight hour shuttle flight. And a three and a half hour car ride.

'Need for secrecy for my safety my ass. Milly's just pissed at me still...I mean, really! The man is just far too sensitive if he cant take a little joke...thongs aren't that uncomfortable to wear...for a week or three...'

There were only two things that had kept him sane during those long hours; his mp3 player, cleverly disguised as a single red rose-after all, who would ever suspect that?-always worn on the lapel of his uniform, the other, the discomfort and kittenish bad-temper of a certain blond lieutenant.

It had taken many hours of begging, pleading, threatening, sulking and pouting, before he had finally remembered he could just order the blond to accompany him back to Earth.

The two of them, along with Une and Noin, had already visited several Oz facilities, checking upon everything from the Officers to the new recruits, the manufacturing of new mobile suits to the prisoners and their conditions.

They aimed to get the remaining sixteen bases on their list over and done with within two to three weeks, allowing Trieze to spend some time off, resting at one of his estates, relaxing and, hopefully, getting reacquainted with Milliardo on a more...intimate level. Wars did such terrible things to ones sex life.

They were almost there, though. They had almost passed the three week mark, but it was almost over. Only one more base to inspect.

To Be Continued

Authors notes – not fully happy with this chapter, but i didn't want to delay it any longer. I may return to edit this at a later date.


	13. Chapter 11

Silent Revolution – Chapter Eleven – Safe Houses

AN: Thank you for the reviews.

Anonymous Void – Expect Duo to reappear in chapter thirteen or so.

DMQ – why thank you xD

dk-joy – neither do I entirely; this will be explained, hopefully, in chapter twelve

Serenity Maxwell – I agree; I hope to come back and fix this at a later date, but I needed to make the switchover between PoV's at some point, and ch.10 was the perfect point.

AA – Thank-you. If you have any recs with these pairings, please leave a link or title! It's hard to find them.

Li Nika – Thank-you. xD There was no previous version of this chapter though That was a new insert

Windy River, guess, Sirithgliniel, - Thank you

This chapter is a new addition, deviating from the original version of Silent. This chapter was created to help answer some of the questions that had arisen, both in the original and through the re-write. This is, unfortunately, the raw, unplanned version of this chapter, meaning that this chapter has only gone through two stages; my hand-written, half-asleep shorthand version written at around about three in the morning on Friday evening, and my edits, additions and alterations to that crap when it is being typed up. Usually, I have several versions of the same chapter written and re-written before they are posted. As the previous chapter and this one are both testament, my raw-work is sub-par at best. Like all of my work, it is also un-beta'ed. So I apologise if it is not of the usual standard.

Again, this could have been drawn out over several chapters; I may come back to write a side-fic for this three-month period in more detail. However, for the sake of my own sanity and willingness to continue this fic, for now, this'll have to make do.

Edit: Gah! This chapter's been completed for over a week and a half now-I just hadn't gotten around to typing it up completely. I apologise. Expect an update of 'somewhere I belong' within the next week.

Chapter Eleven – Safe Houses

"Three months..." The thought struck him early one morning. He had been lying in bed, the post-orgasmic-bliss having long-faded. The warm spot where his lover had laid minutes earlier already starting to cool.

It had been a long, hard, trying twelve weeks for them all.

After the initial escape and retreat, there had been hardly enough time to get their injuries patched up and their belongings packed before they had to move safe houses. It had not been a mad rush, though, as one would expect. They were too shell-shocked for tearful goodbyes and frantic searches for that missing pack of unopened condoms that just couldn't be left behind. Instead, the soldier within each of them took charge. Quickly and methodically, they managed to pack the essentials and make it to their gundams within the hour.

Less than 48 hours after arriving at their new destination-an apartment safe house in the busy student district of L1, close to the University-each received a similar set of orders; Split up, lie low, await further instructions.

It had been heart breaking. On top of everything else, of everything that was happening to them, they were being separated from their lovers, for Shinigami-knows how long.

Quatre had retreated to the deserts on Earth. Refusing the help of his sisters, yet unable to shake Rashid and his men off of his back, he had chosen to await his orders in the heat and the sand. It helped keep his tears at bay. The harsh climate, mixed with familiar company, helped keep his emotions at bay.

His space heart, still wounded and crying out for his lover, was allowed a brief respite. Without the barrage of sickening, crawling through to mind-numbing, ecstasy feelings constantly battling with his paper-thin shields every time he entered a crowed, each time he infiltrated a base, sat in on a meeting or ripped the life from countless enemy pilots. Gone. Allowing him to focus on his own misery and sense of loss.

Trowa, unwilling to put his sister at risk, unable to remain in space with such recent events, chose to retreat to Earth, to the streets of Europe. France, Rome, Sanq, Belgium, Germany. No-one spared more than a passing glance at yet another busker, playing a flute-surprisingly well- for credits each day on a street corner of a small village or a busy cities alike.

He felt numb. It was too much. He retreated behind the old mask of silence, without his lover by his side. He couldn't begin to think of his own health, his own state of mind-not without Quatre, not without knowing he was safe. He never should have gotten involved with the petit blond in the first place. He was so fragile-so vulnerable, really. He could picture him in his mind-his thin, pale body laying twisted, broken on the rocks beneath a cliff, having fallen to his death when running from Oz pursuers in the dark, having taken one wrong step. He could feel his lifeless gaze on him, in his minds eye, as he would open the cockpit of Sandrock, lying amongst an endless, mobile suit strewn wasteland of silent death. Blood tricked from his temple, blond locks matted with crusting crimson. His body would be frigidly cold, the smell, enough to make him wretch.

Caring was too big of a risk during such times. Maybe...maybe if they both survived long enough for one last meeting...he should break it off.

Wufei, with no home to retreat to even if given the chance, had chosen instead to visit the lands of his ancestors in China. No mission, no orders-that left training and meditation. He didn't want any distractions. He had failed-they had all failed. He must have become lax in his training. Weak.

And so he chose to retreat into the mountains and surrounding forests, away from the madness, awaiting his next orders. He forced his mind away from his lover. He couldn't afford any distractions. After all, it was because of their lack of attention that had allowed their teammate the chance to fuck-up so badly in the first place.

Day in, day out, he drove his body past his limits, forcing himself, mentally and physically, to improve. The harder he trained, the less time he had to think-to truly consider what may be going on. He knew, when he first became involved with the perfect soldier, what sort of a boy he was getting himself involved with. He knew the risks they all had to take when he chose to become a pilot-to fight in his wife's memory. He knew the extra, stupid risks the blue-eyed pilot was willing to take-near on suicidal, truth be told.

He couldn't take the time to think of what his lover may be doing, of where he may be. He knew, that, if he did, he may not be able to await his orders. He knew he may not be able to continue on.

Heero, being Heero, had disappeared without a trace. Not at hint as to His location, his state of mind, his intentions; nothing.

He had considered asking J to retrain him. He had once been perfect-the perfect soldier, more machine than man, but, obviously, he now had a flaw. The mission had been a failure. Perhaps it was because of Chang. The relationship that had developed between the two of them... Or perhaps it was due to the 'friendships' he had formed with his comrades. Perhaps it trailed all the way back to that little girl and her puppy. Whatever it may be, in the end, he decided against it.

It would be more efficient for the mission if he was ready to go at a moments notice. Re-training could take months. Months that they did not have.

No. He didn't have the time to be re-trained. He needed a quicker solution- in case they were all forced into close quarters again soon. He needed to distance himself. He needed to focus on the mission. On the cause. Nothing else mattered.

Deep down, each of them desperately missed their lovers; none of them considered the other couple. Each was consumed with their need to cope with this heart-breaking setback, and their worry over their lovers safety.

So consumed were they, that none of them thought to consider why they had never had such problems in the past. None of them remembered the previous failed missions, the previous worries and near-misses. They paled in comparison. To current events. But before...before they would have coped so much better. With him...with him, he would have found a way... a way to bring Quatre out of his depression, a way to make Trowa open up to someone-be it he or his lover-a way to destroy his masks before they could be fully erected again. A way to calm Wufei, to show him that he didn't have to be perfect, that he could rely on them, that he could relax some times. He would have found a way to stop Heero from taking the blame silently, assuming the worst of himself, a way of stopping him from becoming a machine once again.

But he couldn't. He wasn't there. Through no fault of his own. through his own stupid, but, in his opinion, worth it, decision. But that was the kind of person he was.

By week three, each received individual missions from their respective Doctors. By week four they had been reunited. It wasn't until week eight that he even crossed their minds in any way whatsoever. Each had preferred to put such events from their minds.

"An idiot and a coward-"

"Once a street rat, always a street rat."

"It's better that he stays away, better for all of us... This is all his fault, after all..."

"At least he's doing something right for once."

"I just hope it stays that way."

To Be continued.

AN: .. Still a short update, but put it this way-this was only two pages in handwriting. I expanded it to just under five...


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